


Timeless

by ArcticCalamity



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 04:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10325153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticCalamity/pseuds/ArcticCalamity
Summary: Jesse McCree knew the rules; Gabe had made sure to pound them into his head before sending him out on any missions. However, when faced with a man awaiting his execution, he remembers that rules are made to be broken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Finally managing to put some Overwatch garbage out after MONTHS of not being able to write a damn word. Honestly this only exists because I wanted to write the phrase "moon-soaked sky" and somehow I spit this out with it. Please enjoy my trash. It's probably only going to be a couple chapters long but honestly who knows. It's rated M because I have no clue what's going to happen but I tend to write sex and violence at some point in my stories so there ya go.

            McCree wasn’t quite sure what drew him to that place, with the fresh-fallen snow and the moonlight-drenched sky, but the weight of it hung heavy in his heart like the clouds framing the stars like a picture. The clearing around him, filled now with the gentle slopes and curves of powder, was most likely a park in the spring. He could see buried playground equipment and benches where tired moms would watch their children laugh and bounce. In the center, around which everything else spilled out in a static orbit, was a large tree. McCree didn’t know what kind, he had never been much of a tree man, but the immense size of it had him stopped, hands in his pockets and breath puffing warm clouds in the air as he watched it in silence. Its leaves had long since dropped and the remaining branches crawled through the air with skinny fingers, reaching towards the stars.

            One thing he didn’t notice, however, was that he wasn’t alone. Just around the curve of the tree, at the end of an almost invisible trail of footprints, was a man. His long, dark hair was tied up and the black jacket he wore was long and unassuming. When McCree looked over at him, he was sure the man hadn’t noticed his presence either: he was simply sitting at the base of the trunk, eyes staring up towards the stars. He considered calling out to the man, but something about the weight of the silence, of the peace of the moment, stopped the words on his tongue.

            If there was anything Jesse McCree knew too well, it was rules. All his life he’d spent running back and forth avoiding them. Ever since his youth he lived by the code that all rules were meant to be broken, or at least bent. But that was years ago, before Overwatch, before Deadlock. And these rules were much more menacing with life-changing repercussions. The feeling of Gabe’s stare on the back of his neck, even though the godforsaken man wasn’t around, was enough to keep him from calling out or moving forward. McCree put a hand on his pocketwatch, letting his fingers drift over the worn surface. It wasn’t damaged, of course, but the metal still had the soft, aged look that came with years of love and care. The rules circled in his mind, repeating themselves over and over until he finds himself whispering them to the cold wind. He knows what is and isn’t allowed, but when he looks at the man, gazing up to the sky with a longing in his eyes, like he was searching for something hidden behind the constellations, McCree couldn’t help himself from thinking the man was beautiful. His heart twanged in his chest.

            Rule number four: do not interact with anyone outside your assignment.

            McCree reminded himself that rules were made to be broken. He took his hand off his pocketwatch and took a few steps forward, following the path the man had taken previously until he was standing beside him.

            “Fancy meeting you here,” McCree said with a smile plastered on his face. His skin was starting to tingle in the frozen air. The man didn’t look at him, and for a moment said nothing. Then, he let out a soft “hmm” noise, like he was considering McCree’s statement. McCree shifted in his boots, dancing from one foot to the other.

            “Hoo boy is it cold out here or what? How can you stand bein’ out here with just that jacket on? I’m dressed to the nines and I still feel like I’m about to freeze solid in my boots.”

            The man was still silent, his breath coming in and out of his chest in a long, deep rhythm.

            “I suppose,” the man said, finally, “that I am used to it. It reminds me of home.”

            “Oh,” he said, “home being…?”

            “Japan.”

            “Ah.” McCree stopped bouncing and sat down beside the man who had not offered him a place, but that had never stopped McCree before and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop him now. “I’ve never been to Japan. What’s it like?”

            “It is beautiful,” he said. “I lived high on a mountain and in the spring the cherry blossom trees bloomed and spread like pink snow. My brother-“ The man stopped and took a deep breath. “My brother and I used to love spring, but winter was our favorite. We often had snow like this.” He looked away from the sky, instead focusing on the snow beneath his legs. “My apologies. Time has made me tired. Perhaps it is my age that has me rambling about like an old fool.”

            McCree quirked the side of his mouth in a half-smile. “Age? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. You don’t look a day over 30, Mr….”

            “Hanzo,” he said in a voice that flowed like music. “Just Hanzo.” McCree wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to hear Hanzo speak and never stop. There was a certain rhythm to him, to his energy and his words and his eyes that reminded him of what it was like to be alive.

            “Nice to meetcha, Just Hanzo. The name’s McCree, but my friends call me Jesse.” He was hoping Hanzo would have some sort of response, but he still seemed so lost in himself in his own thoughts, that whenever McCree looked at him, he was gazing out past the horizon, beyond the stars, through the ground. “So,” he continued, trying to break the tension, “what brings you out here on this bitter cold night?”

            Hanzo pulled something from his pocket and began playing with it in his fingers. It was small and round, like a coin, but with a hole in the middle.

            “I suppose,” Hanzo said, “there’s no reason to lie. Not anymore.” His hands stilled and he looked at McCree for the first time. He felt Hanzo’s stare deep in his bones. There was an age to him, something that said he had seen everything and felt nothing for a very long time. Or maybe it was the other way around. “Mr. McCree,” he said, “I am going to die tomorrow.”

            “Excuse me?” McCree wasn’t quite sure he had heard him correctly. “You don’t mean…you ain’t gonna off yourself or nothin’ are you?”

            “Off…myself? You mean suicide? No. Nothing so crude. I am simply scheduled for execution.”

            It was as if ice had slowly crept into his chest, freezing over his blood in his veins and his beating heart until he was chilled down to his soul. He wasn’t quite sure why Hanzo made him feel this way. Maybe it was whatever drew him to this time and place initially. Regardless, he knew at that moment that, despite his past, despite all the death and murder he had seen, he wasn’t going to let Hanzo die like a caged rat.

            McCree knew all the rules. He had them memorized to a tee. He could recite them upways and backwards and all sorts of loop-dee-loops, but he had already broken one rule, and he knew it was time to break another.

            Rule number 5: do not lose, lend, or share your machine.

            McCree stood up and held out his hand to Hanzo, who was looking up at him, confused.

            “Come with me, Hanzo.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me.” McCree knelt down so he was eye to eye with the man, making sure he could see how serious McCree was. “I ain’t sittin’ around and lettin’ some fool die with that kind of conviction. Come with me for one week, and if after that time you still wanna die, then I’ll bring you right back here. Promise.”

            Hanzo looked at McCree, then around them, as if this might be some sort of dream. “Go with you…where?” he asked. McCree smiled and held his hand out again.

            “Darlin’, I know we just met an’ all, but I’m gonna have to ask you to trust me.” For a while it seemed like Hanzo would decline, would get up and storm off, or would straight up call the police on him for being a loon. But he didn’t. After a moment of silence where their warm breaths mingled in the air, Hanzo took his hand and they both stood up. “If you could go anywhere in this whole wide world, any time or place, where would it be?”

            “Anywhere?” Hanzo asked.

            “Anywhere.”

            “Perhaps,” his voice trailed off for a moment. It was a pretty big question. McCree started to think he needed to offer some suggestions for him, but Hanzo spoke up first. “I have never been to New York City.”

            “New York? You got it.” McCree pulled out his pocketwatch. First he pressed a button on the top, then spun the dial on the side a few times, watching the numbers change on the face as he did so, and finally he spun the minute and hour hands to a specific time. McCree took Hanzo’s hand in his and held him tight. “Now, I gotta admit, sugar, I ain’t ever done this before, so I’m sorry if somethin’ goes wrong. But nothin’ should go wrong. I think.” And before Hanzo could answer, McCree clicked the lid shut, and with a quick breath of air, they were gone. All that was left beneath the tree was the fresh, icy powder and the holes where they had stood.


End file.
